


Love's Ignorant of Time

by earthseraph



Series: Past Lives Verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Steve Makes Bucky A Belated Birthday Present, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s nervous as hell and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he’s asking Bucky to marry him- it’s too soon, they’ve only been together in this part of their lives for four months- it’s just a belated birthday present... With a candlelit dinner, a dozen sunflowers that he had to import because they’re not in season yet, their favorite diner food from down the street, and a notebook filled with scenes from Bucky’s book illustrated by Steve himself. </p><p>No big deal. Just a dinner, some flowers, and his heart and soul put into the illustrations in that notebook... okay, it was kinda a big deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Ignorant of Time

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place four months or so after the chapter before the epilogue of [Past Lives](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4738631/chapters/10830188) and I'd recommend reading that first because if not there's a lot you won't understand.
> 
> Thank you to [Kat](http://worthystevie.tumblr.com/) for helping me with this!
> 
> Title from [Whitaker's My Own](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EmXg0pOIHY).

Steve looks from the set-up dining room table, and back to the door. He’s nervous as hell and he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he’s asking Bucky to marry him- it’s too soon, they’ve only been together in this part of their lives for four months- it’s just a belated birthday present... With a candlelit dinner, a dozen sunflowers that he had to import because they’re not in season yet, their favorite diner food from down the street, and a notebook filled with scenes from Bucky’s book illustrated by Steve himself. 

No big deal. Just a dinner, some flowers, and his heart and soul put into the illustrations in that notebook... okay, it was kinda a big deal.

Each scene was painted and drawn with his heart in his throat and the prickle of tears in his eyes. Each scene was painted with Bucky and their love in mind, the love they lost and found over time. Each and every scene was painted in secrecy because Bucky wrote this book to find him, and so he was going to paint these scenes in return. At first, when he got the idea months ago- when he reread Bucky’s book knowing full and well that it was written about them- he was going to give the illustrations to him for Christmas. Christmas was too soon, though, too many greeting card commissions and finals to grade, not enough time to put all his love into the illustrations. Then Valentine's Day came up, but Bucky surprised him with a three night vacation at a B&B out in the country, so his present went out the window seeing as he forgot it at home. He didn’t want to randomly give Bucky a notebook full of paintings, he wanted the day to mean something, so, Bucky’s birthday it was. 

Steve knows he didn’t have to paint the scenes, that he didn’t have to do any of this for Bucky, but he wanted to- he wants to- he’s just nervous as hell for no damn reason.

After standing between the table and the door, Steve goes back to the table and checks everything over. Two bottles of their favorite beer, check. Two plates with styrofoam boxes on top from the diner down the street, check. Candles lit, check. Sunflowers next to Bucky’s seat, check. Notebook with Steve’s heart and soul painted into the pages, check.

He lets out a slow, steady breath and gently touches the tips of his fingers to the top of the blue notebook holding the paintings. It’s been four months since they found each other again, four amazing months that put all the missing happiness back into Steve’s life. Basically four months of living together in Steve’s brownstone with unending love. Sure they have their ups and downs, but every couple does. Whether it be over who didn’t wash the dishes, whether it be over a nightmare ridden night, or a day when Steve feels particularly bad about himself and his arm or hearing, they have their downs. But in the end, when silent treatments are over or irrational sadness and depression passes, they still love each other, each with their hearts in their eyes and souls out for the other’s taking. It’s a love that Steve never thought he’d get back and thanks God every night because he _did_. 

Steve’s busted out of his sappy moment of remembrance when the front door opens. His heart beating a little faster from both Bucky being home and his loud- but normal- entrance.

“Steve,” Bucky says, half yelling because he doesn’t know Steve’s in the dining room, “why the hell did I think teaching college kids would be a good idea? Why the hell did _you_ think teaching college kids was a good idea?”

He mumbles something Steve can’t hear while kicking his boots off and peels the layers of winter clothes from his body, and Steve stays silent. He’s frozen by the dining room table because sure he expected Bucky home within the hour, but not this soon.

“I mean,” Bucky continues, unaware of the momentary freak out Steve’s having, “they’re just so full of it. I’m fuckin’ published, they’re not, so why do they-”

Steve gives Bucky a sheepish smile when the other man finally turns around and notices the dining room and steps away from the table, towards Bucky, “Happy belated, Buck.”

Steve watches as Bucky looks over the scene, from the candles, to the diner boxes, down to the flowers and notebook, his mouth opening and closing until he finally speaks, “We already did something for my birthday with Mom ‘n them.”

“I know,” Steve wipes his hands on the thighs of his pants and shrugs, “but I wanted to do something for you. Just the two of us.”

Bucky crosses the room and stands in front of Steve, his hair’s a little wet from the snow outside and he has a pink flush on his face that Steve can’t tell whether is from the cold or the fact that Steve decided to do something else for Bucky’s birthday.

“You didn’t have to,” Bucky mutters, sounding like a little kid, resting the tips of his fingers on Steve’s stomach.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand in one of his and presses his lips to the knuckles, “I know I didn’t, but it’s the first birthday we’ve celebrated together in years, I wanted to make it special.”

“You sap,” Bucky says, not unkindly, full of emotion that Steve knows all too well.

“I am,” Steve replies, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s knuckles before pulling away, “now, lets eat before it gets cold.”

Bucky grins, eyes drifting to the familiar boxes, “Don’t gotta’ tell me twice.”

* * *

* * *

“That was amazing,” Bucky groans, leaning back in his seat, rubbing his hands over his belly.

Steve smiles at Bucky, happy that he enjoyed his meal, and pushes his leftover fries towards him, “Want the rest?” He’s too nervous to finish them, if he’s being honest.

Bucky groans like it’s such a burden to eat leftover fries and eyes them for a minute before giving in, “Pass ‘em down, I’ll do some extra reps at the gym or something.”

Steve snorts and hands over the styrofoam box containing the fries, he knows what _something_ Bucky is referring to when it comes to burning calories, “Extra fries won’t hurt you, Buck.” Because, really, Bucky doesn’t have much fat on his body and even if he did he would still look like a model that came right off a photoshoot.

“You just wanna’ keep me nice and plump,” Bucky says, stuffing a fry in his mouth, he points the one currently in his hand at Steve, “get me fat until next thanksgiving where you’ll use me as a turkey.”

Steve gasps and brings a hand up to his mouth, “Oh no, you’ve foiled my plan, now I _have_ to kill you.”

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, “I’d put up one helluva’ fight.”

“That you would,” Steve says with a nod, ignoring the part of his mind that says _that you did_ because Bucky put up one hell of a fight during the war and Steve will never forget that.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Bucky finishing up his food, occasionally brushing his fingertips against the sunflowers next to him like he can’t believe they’re actually there, and Steve watches him with unabashed eyes, full of love he knows is obvious and written across his face. The heart he so proudly wears on his sleeve beating loudly for all to hear because he loves Bucky so damn much and he doesn’t care who knows it.

Eventually, Bucky finishes the fries, licking the salt and ketchup off his fingers like a little kid and Steve doesn’t have it in him to scrunch his nose at Bucky because he’s too damn cute right now.

“So,” Bucky says, breaking the silence as he wipes his fingers off with a napkin, nodding to the blue covered notebook resting under the flowers, “what’s that?”

Steve’s stomach flutters with nerves, his heart beating a few pumps faster. He lets out a slow breath and nods to it like Bucky did seconds ago, “Open it.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, already reaching for the book without hesitation despite the eyebrow, and Steve holds his breath. He watches as Bucky carefully opens the blue cover, pages and spine creaking after all the use Steve put into it. He watches Bucky’s eyes widen, a hand come up to cover his mouth as he flips through each page, sometimes the hand over his mouth drifting down to the page to stroke the image, feel the warped paper from the paints or the lines of ink from the writing. He watches as a few stray tears slip through Bucky’s eyelashes, watches as Bucky continues on with a swipe of his cheek and a sniffle of his nose. Flipping page after page, taking every minute detail Steve put into the artwork, taking in the scenes of his book come to life. And Steve- Steve couldn’t feel more in love or happier about Bucky’s reaction.

His reaction is truthful and raw. It’s unshielded with tears slipping down his face and the way Bucky has to take hard swallows every now and then. It’s not necessarily sad but it’s not the happiest thing either- not with certain parts. Not with paintings of the war, of bloodshed, of Bucky’s trip into the desert that they both thought he’d never return from, of Bucky having to live in solitude. Steve remembers drawing them, filling them in with color, how his heart ached and pins pricked behind his eyes, how he had to keep reminding himself that Bucky’s here now, that’s he’s not going anywhere. Promising himself that he’d hug Bucky a little tighter that night, promising himself that nothing like that would ever happen to them again because he doesn’t think either of them could deal with something like that again in their lifetime. 

And then Bucky gets to the reuniting illustrations.

His posture changes, his face lights up, instead of tears his eyes are bright, instead of a frown there’s a smile. He lets out a little laugh that makes Steve himself grin. He brushes the page with his fingertips once more and smiles, looking up at Steve, “I remember seeing you at that cafe like it was yesterday.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, a little breathless because Bucky’s smiling down at the page like it’s something made of perfection. A little breathless because sure they’ve talked about the cafe once or twice, but never with this much emotion, never with Bucky looking at _him_ like he’s perfection- or, at least, never with Steve noticing. 

“Yeah,” Bucky shakes his head, still smiling down at the illustration, “like something straight outta’ my book but with more nerves- nervous nerves, that is.”

Steve chuckles, watching Bucky through the candle light, “I was nervous as hell, Buck, it was like our first date all over again.”

“I was taken off guard,” Bucky looks up from the book, closing it, “was expectin’ to see Natasha, didn’t expect to see you- didn’t expect to ever see you again, if I’m being honest.”

Steve lays his arm across the table, palm up for Bucky to take, “But I’m here now, and you’re here, and-” he swallows back a lump in his throat, “-and there’s nothing more that I’d wish for, in this moment. Nothing that could ever be better than being with you again.”

“You took the words straight out of my mouth,” Bucky says, his voice tight, and he places his hand over Steve’s, fingertips touching the vein on Steve’s wrist just like Steve’s on his, heartbeat to heartbeat, “and this,” Bucky nods down to the book, “ _this_ was more than I could ever ask for, Stevie, because the book may be about Chris and Sebastian, but this-” another nod to the notebook, “-this is us, and that story’s us, and hardly anyone knows that.” He licks his lips, making Steve follow the movement before looking back up into Bucky’s eyes, “A lot of fans draw the characters out, and I love every single piece I see, but it ain’t me and you in those drawings. Never has been, not until now, and I love them. I love _you_.”

Steve smiles, it’s watery, it’s shaky, but it’s genuine, “I love you, too, Buck. And I’m glad you liked the illustrations, was worried you wouldn’t.”

“You could draw me stick figures and I’d love it,” Bucky says with a roll of his eyes, “but really, thank you Steve, you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Steve says with a nod because Bucky has to know that. He needs to know that Steve wanted to spend his spare moments in secret drawing out scenes, filling in lines, pressing his love into that blue book with every stroke and scratch and sketch.

“But you wanted to,” Bucky agrees, he presses his fingers to the notebook once more before rising, blowing out the candles as he goes, “now,” he keeps a hold of Steve’s hand, tugging him until he willfully rises from the table, “how about we make more scenes in the bedroom, huh?” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve rolls his eyes but presses his forehead against Bucky’s, “Way to ruin the romance,”

Bucky snorts, rubbing their noses together, “That’s your area of expertise.”

“I’m not the one who wrote a book about our lives,”

“No,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Steve’s jaw, making him shiver, “but you are the one who spent what little to no spare time he had illustrating it with us as the characters.”

Steve nods, conceding, “Then how about we’re both saps, just in different areas.”

Bucky shrugs, pulling away, “Agree to disagree, now,” he tugs on the belt loops of Steve’s pants, “be sappy with me in bed and I’ll write about it and you paint it.”

“Deal’s a deal,” Steve says, breathless for _other_ reasons, and follows the tugs on his pants.

It’s time to make art in a completely different way.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any fic requests for this series please send them my way!
> 
>  
> 
> [Rebloggable fic post! ](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/141058257865/loves-ignorant-of-time-by-earthseraph-pesmenos)  
>  [My Tumblr](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/)


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